what is raven

You sleep for an hour. Most willingly pinned by your weight, I am trapped on the couch. Sleep doesn’t come for me, though.

When you wake, I’ve been left alone with the raw physicality of your body literally pressed upon me. Hearing your breathing shift I lean to hug you, arms slotting together under your breasts.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you murmur, shifting your hips.

“You’ve put on so much weight.”

You realise I’ve been looking. The feeling is bittersweet, knowing where some of that weight came from. It’s a short while before you sort through your feelings enough to answer. A petulant little gurgle at around the belly button and the sensation of your breasts weighing so heavy on my arms makes it easier to focus on the real.

“Beach body.”

I smile, then get that intense look. “I want to see you properly. Could you get up for me, Rey?”

You’re lazy, but you’re also relishing a little easy attention. So, taking your time to emphasise that you’re doing it because you want to, you lever your weight off the couch. I exhale sharply as you do, being the victim of a momentary crush. It does me no harm at all.

“Happy?” you say, standing in the middle of the living room and spinning slowly with your arms to each side. I sit forward on the couch, rapt, examining each curve.

“Not yet. I need to see you naked.” You halt your rotation, mock shocked expression on your face. “Please,” I say.

Fixing me with a smoky gaze, you remove your traveling clothes. Leggings whose elastic has been sorely tested are peeled down your legs with a surprisingly dexterous dip of the knees.

“Hang on.” You pause after stepping out of the leggings. A broad shirt completed the simple outfit. Its sides dangle like a short skirt around your belly, leaving your immense thighs ringed by pale cream fabric.

I drop to my knees and touch you, from ankles up. Your skin yields beneath my touch up till a point: your thighs are padded, huge, but muscle like steel cables run through them to carry such a bulk.

I flash you an apologetic smile and lean in to kiss your inner thigh. You hear me inhale and get shy. “I haven’t showered after the flight!”

From your point of view my head appears from under the curve of your belly. “You’re a vision. A goddess. Your scent is how a woman should smell.”

That didn’t make you necessarily feel less shy but at least I’m enjoying myself. My touch skips over the naughty bits, at least for now, and finds a pendulous pale crescent creased above your womanhood. Your belly is heavy enough to hang a little.

“Shirt off, please, Raven.”

You undo a couple of buttons then pause. Guilt itches uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. I look up. “Rey, what’s wrong?”

“Some of this is her.”

Concern flickers over my face, but is chased away by a faint smile. I stand and place my hand over your heart. “You told me once that you transfigure your prey. So this isn’t… Gemma.” I unbutton one extra step and tease the squeezed-together cleavage that is revealed with a stroke of my hand. “This is Raven.”

That sets the pace. You allow yourself to be undressed and revealed, admired and caressed. The swells of fat that pad your ribs are proclaimed to be Raven, not the brother. No part of your blood meals is to be found on the snowdrifts of indulgent flesh that pile up and roll above your hips. Only Raven lives there.

Erika is not to be found anywhere at all about your buttocks. Only Raven lays claim to the vast trackless expanse, with its generous mounds, little valleys where the flesh overhangs the backs of your thighs, and the deep, mysterious crevasse that splits it down the middle.

You are naked and glowing when your belly is examined and determined to contain no trace of dear Amelie. The only person standing there is Raven, top to bottom, from midnight hair to hypnotic eyes to red lips to fine jawline; thence to deceptively slender throat and then out in sheets of fat packed into curvaceous, generous flesh. I worship your fat with kisses that obscure my face in fragrant skin, heavy strokes that cause your body to shift and jiggle like a balloon fit to burst. I hoist your immense breasts and kiss areola grown broad and sensitive for all the flesh stuffed behind them, and explore the secret recesses of your soft warm folds.

“There’s so much of you,” I murmur at one point, mesmerized such that you wonder if I even know I’m speaking out loud. “I could disappear inside you and not make a dent.”

“Kiss me and you can see,” you say, leaning forward with lips slightly parted.

I consider it for a long while, staring into your beautiful, deadly eyes.

Eventually I seem to choose life, and deflect. “Olivia,” I say. “Is she here?”

“Kneel. Maybe there is some of her left.”

I tear at my clothes—literally not bothering to unbutton the short-sleeved shirt I’m wearing—and trail kisses down your tummy. A cheeky lick into your navel makes you giggle, then grab me by the hair and guide me the rest of the way. Furrows of bellyflesh break like waves and then I am sailing the open seas of your cunt, dripping wet from enjoyment of your own gorgeous body.

We enjoy it together for hours. When I’m kneeling before you your fat hangs and ensconces me in a world of your flesh. When I enter you from behind you feel the great swaying motion of your belly rolling back and forth in time with my thrusts, your tits hanging low enough your nipples scuff carpet. When my hand is buried in the slick heat of your arsehole, my forearm, strong and well-built, is an insignificant noodle against the twin fields of your buttocks.

When our lust is spent and we are cleaned up, we collapse together. Bliss continues for us as I lie sprawled over you, compressing and sinking into your belly. I turn my head to keep from drowning in you. It looks like I am half swallowed already.